Sorcery, Mages and Monarchs: The World is Forged by Strength
by ElMarquis
Summary: Adversity has formed Harry into something more than a mere wizard. Terrifying magical warriors whose mastery of the arcane arts have struck down armies now count him as one among them - a Battle Mage. In distant Britain, the rise of a Dark Lord brings him into conflict with the nation that had birthed him and abandoned him. NOT Slash. First five chapters written already.
1. Chapter 1

Not far off the coast of Turkey, in the south-eastern border of the Aegean where it meets the Mediterranean, lies the most eastern of the Aegean islands, named Rhodes. Lying at the north-eastern tip of this strategically-placed island is the eponymous fortress-port of Rhodes. In 1988, UNESCO, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, designated the ancient city as a World Heritage Site, recognising it as a landmark of exceptional cultural and historic significance, and thus triggered chaos.

In opening this significant can of worms, they failed to see the enmity between Greece and Turkey. Set at a crossroads between Europe, the Levant, Anatolia and Africa, Rhodes had first been a metropolis of Ancient Greece throughout the golden age of that entity. Then Rome, again in its golden age, took Rhodes, yet when Rome fell and the empire broke into the West and the East, the Holy Roman and the Byzantine Empires, Rhodes passed to the latter, but was frequently attacked, even conquered by Arabs and Turks, even the Genoese.

Eventually, through conquest, it fell into the hands of the Order of Knights of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem, the Knights Hospitaller. They were to hold it for two-hundred and fifteen years before the island once more fell to conquest, this time to the Ottoman Empire of Sultan Suleiman 'the Magnificent'. It would be a decade short of four centuries before the island once more changed hands, in 1912 as the Italians seized many islands in the eastern Aegean including Rhodes.

Here things became rather more fuzzy, as Italy signed a treaty with Greece, promising the return of all those islands, save for Rhodes, which would become an autonomous state. Then during the Second World War, after the Italian Armistace, the island was occupied by Germany, before passing back into the hands of the Greeks after the war.

Suddenly a goldmine of tourist money, and with Greece and Turkey, neither blameless, at one-another's throats, especially since the coup-invasion in Cyprus, a significant risk came of another Greco-Turkish war. It took a significant amount of negotiating, including Britain, a major Mediterranean power, controlling Gibraltar and Cyprus before an intermediate solution was found to preventing an inter-NATO conflict. They applied heavy pressure to make sure this would happen, because if a Greco-Turkish conflict did break out, Britain stood a good chance of being forced to intervene due to its base at Akrotiri on Cyprus.

It was decided a neutral party would take control, the Knights of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem, now in the form of the Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of Saint John of Jerusalem of Rhodes and of Malta. The negotiations were sealed in 1993, the Knights Hospitaller were to take administrative control of this autonomous state, and the first custodian?

The final decision was made a few months later, where, behind great spells and enchantments of concealment in the Domum Magicae in the Vatican, the Council of Mages sat. In one fell stroke, they would exile one of their own, who had proven something of a renegade, to the non-magical world, as well as many miles away. With a figurehead position, he would take control of a base for operations into Asia. The name of the Custos Castri? The seventeen-year old Hadrian Potter.

* * *

 **January 2nd 1994, Fortress Rhodes, Rhodes.**

Hadrian Potter, for that was the name that he was blessed with, written on the papers at the orphanage he was abandoned at, sat at his desk and pondered as he stared out over the island that was to be his home and his charge. Dawn was barely rising over the ancient ramparts, and his duties, the first day of them, had yet to begin, but he was sure they would be less risky than his usual profession.

A number of years of conflict had forced him to learn to fight, and fight he did. A scholar of some repute, he'd dived deep into arcane and powerful battle magic, becoming a skilled practitioner and a feared opponent. He was also an orphan. All that he could recall were faint flashes of a vanished past, for few magicks could resurrect distant memories to the clarity of the adult mind, and indeed he feared that many of his early memories were concealed behind a wall of magic in the mind. Instead, he'd chased paperwork, and found that his records at the orphanage began on the second of November 1981, twelve years and two months ago.

The lack of knowledge of where he came from weighed heavily on Harry, for a man's past is half of what defines him – the other half being what he does with himself, and so, he wanted his past. All else he set his mind to seek, he took with ease. Through fire, ice, tempests and oceans he could cleave his way through any force, but the knowledge of where he came from was not within his reach. But, for all this, Harry had not become willing to venture to mainland Britain, from whence he came. The reputation of the island was in tatters, with all of ill-humanity seeming to congregate there, every foul form and twisted mind among magicals.

Sighing, he pulled a goblet across the desk and fished a metal jug out from the hearth. Harry flicked open the top of a jug with his thumb, pouring himself half a goblet. The spiced wine, still warm from being left by the embers of the fire soothed his sore throat. Probably not the best way to start a morning, but he felt in necessary.

Having arrived only the previous day, he'd settled into a simple set of rooms in one of the wings of the Grandmaster's Palace, the citadel known locally as the Kastello. Today, his work would begin on the heritage of the island and the city. Dressing quickly, he left his rooms and made his way to one of the balconies overlooking the city. A brief smile appeared on Harry's face as he saw the people awakening, market stalls being wheeled out and the city coming to life.

Glancing at his watch, Harry realised that he had a few hours until work began, so he decided to slip into the city. Maybe even get something local to eat. A brief grimace as he concentrated on utilising the minimal metamorphmagus powers he had, he quickly lengthened his hair and turned it brown, pulling it into a ponytail. Dressed in typical tourist garb, he could blend in without too much difficulty.

* * *

With a bellyful of sea bream, which he'd bought off a fishing boat at the quayside, roasted over charcoals, Harry returned to the Kastello, changing into a dark-blue suit, red tie and white shirt, ready to receive his guests at a large table in the grand hall of the fortress. Waiting, stood beside the seat at the head of the table until the last of his guests arrived and were seated.

Then Harry lifted a briefcase onto the table and flipped it open.

"Good morning gentlemen. What you see before you are Franklins, hundred-dollar bills. The fortress has lacked a certain amount of maintenance and care, which is to be rectified with significant investment. I have brought you here, structural engineers, archaeologists, artillery experts, glaziers, potters, stonemasons, carpenters, blacksmiths, weavers, for initial discussion and work, starting with a budget of twelve million dollars." Harry stated, for the 33-inch by 33-inch case had had sixty stacks of bills, five by twelve, and a good 8 to 9 inches deep. "You have all received an initial payment of one-thousand dollars plus travel and costs for staying because you are the best in your fields. While I will doubtless speak to you individually, all I want initially is surveys of the fortress and the surrounding heritage areas of the city. I want to know the condition of the structures. I already have some work known to need doing urgently. Any questions?"

"None sir." came the reply from the corner of the table occupied by the structural surveyors and engineers.

"Then you may go." Harry stated, dismissing them. Then he turned to the archaeologists. "Gentlemen, your job is to work alongside those working on the structures. All artefacts discovered to be bagged, tagged and placed in the custody of the Kastello for study, conservation and display. Credit will be assigned to the team and to the archaeologists who discovered them, plus a bonus at the end of your work for your discoveries. Questions?"

There were none and the archaeologists were dismissed.

"Those of you who are artisans, the glaziers, potters, stonemasons, carpenters, gunfounders, bellfounders and weavers, please give me your requirements for facilities in which to work, and any other requirements for me to review. The bellfounders I ask to inspect all major bells in the city and send me their surveys, for further action should any need recasting." Harry continued; "For the gunfounders, I already have a list of weapons to be cast, including samples of metal to be examined to get the right alloys. I must note that the weapons should be fully capable for display firing. We are looking at bombards, mortars, culverins and cannon, of which we already have examples either to be used for making patterns of or using to form moulds."

He took a sip of water to clear his throat.

"Blacksmiths, as I am expected to maintain a small garrison of ceremonial guardsman _and_ be self-sufficient, I will need maintenance and production of arms and armour, typical of the time of the Hospitaller occupation of this city." Harry nodded to them; "The rest of you, carpenters, glaziers, potters, stonemasons and weavers are to be concerned with the buildings, the outfitting inside and out with furniture, windows, roofing and suchlike."

Harry knew the costs and needs of old fortresses, as his previous assignment after returning from two terms at the University of Cairo studying Egyptology had been the acquisition and restoration of the three great forts of Malta, Ricasoli, St. Elmo and St. Angelo. However, their capabilities as operating bases and as P.R opportunities were extensive. His day, indeed it was likely his year, was not over soon.

* * *

Rubbing a hand across the bridge of his nose, Harry flicked through his diary. The first day of his command of the fortress-port and he'd dealt with the surveying for conservation and restoration of the fabric of the fortress, plus outfitting it with furniture. He had met with the local police chief and assured him of the support of the Order and laid the groundwork for further cooperation.

Next, coming off an otherwise-empty container ship transiting to the Sovereign Base Area on Cyprus were some patrol boats to augment the seaborne security of the island, specifically the fastest, most powerful gunboats available. Brave-class, and their derivative Søløvens and Type 153s. The ten craft would be of significant use in keeping the waters of Rhodes clear of pirates, smugglers, illegal fishing and any other criminals at sea.

But with his work as fortress commander complete for the day, he could get onto his own project. Harry stood up, walking over to the corner of his room and opening a chest. One of several, each containing a number of historical artefacts. This one contained swords, blades he had acquired through his travels, blades of great historical and magical significance.

The first his hand came upon were the blades of Beowulf, the reforged Naegling, and then a rare and ancient sword named Hrunting, that had but once failed the hand who hefted it in battle, then the Hrothsvarth, and a greatsword, a blade of cold metal like milkglass forged around the hilt of the sword that was destroyed slaying the mother of Grendel, known as Ice, the Jotunsvarth. Then, passing over the furies of Aengus, the Honjo, pausing over the Dyrnwyn, twin swords of Teutonic make, the Mistilteinn, the Frankish Almace, the battle blade Dáinsleif, the Answerer - Fragarach and twin swords of Chinese make, before he drew forth Skofnung, another blade of Norse make, a horcrux or phylactery of types, but containing twelve whole souls.

Each sword was of significant historical and, in some cases, magical significance, the subject of his study. The knowledge in these swords, the enchantments and the processes of creating them were a mystery he wished to unlock. Harry placed Skofnung on a cloth of silk, taking it over to his desk, where he surrounded it with iron nails, placing a horseshoe around the tip and the pommel to contain any magic going awry as he documented the sword.

The study of the spells and the science of the metal that formed these weapons was fascinating, something Harry might one day put into writing. But above all, he wanted to create a weapon of such incredible craftsmanship and spellwrighting as to become a legend. All his knowledge of magic, all of his knowledge of the science of steel into one masterwork.

It would likely take months of work, around his other duties, but Harry began immediately, simply with the design and writing down what materials he'd need. The core, would be forged of seven bars of crucible steel twisted about one-another to form a spring in the centre of a double-fuller. The fuller would be made by forge-wrapping the core with a softer shock-absorbent steel, and ultra-high carbon edges with high trace quantities of the elements of boron, chromium and tin. Then he would etch and polish the blade to reveal any patterning before coating the whole blade in sulphides to protect it thoroughly from corrosion and give it a gold tint.

That was just the metal side of the sword. He had other designs for the enchantments. On a shelf behind him, he had a few odd objects, each containing a restless soul, including two sent to him by an associate in Britain, the soul of the Viking of Stamford Bridge, the berserker who had held the crossing over the Derwent until slain, as well as the soul of Eyestein Orre who led a failed relief counter-attack at the selfsame battle.

The seven bars that would be twisted into the core of the sword would be their containers. Into each he intended to seal the soul of a restless warrior before forging the blade together. Then when the blade, quenched, was drawn, blazing from the quenching oil, Harry intended on sealing those flames in the steel in such a way that the wielder could summon them, and then enhance their power.

All in all, he had no idea how long such works of enchantment would take. He was stepping into new territory. Combining soul magic, a hint of necromancy, elemental magic, and his knowledge of curses, potions and poisons... Perhaps even some curses to power with blood magic, the fuel being the blood spilt upon the sword. His first attempt at a magnum opus. At the same time, he still had extensive duties to carry out. Harry fully expected the project to take a good many months.


	2. Chapter 2

**Early June 1994, Fortress Rhodes, Rhodes.**

It was in the late hours of the evening that word reached the Kastello that wizards of an unsavoury nature had landed on the island. A terrified messenger had run mile after mile in the cool evening air to deliver the warning. Summoned from his arcane library, Harry grew cold and vengeful as he learnt that where the wizards had landed, a small fishing village had been razed to the ground, though not before one of his patrols evacuated the population. He gave up on his plans for a night's sleep, deciding instead to walk down to the police station in the Old City of Rhodes.

It was in that police station that Harry learned in greater detail what had happened. Coming ashore in a a dhow, a militia of wizards from all over Europe and Near Asia had burned the nearest houses to the ground, thinking their occupants within. It was reckoned that they intending to seize the newly-transferred island and use it as a base from which to launch attacks on anyone they didn't like, or anyone that simply had something they wanted. Their weapon? A basilisk. A serpent-demon of ancient make, born of unnatural spellcrafting and capable of terrible destruction.

Immediately, with the security of the islanders and the thousands of visitors compromised, Harry acted. A lot of people had mocked him for his age, but there was no doubt that in a crisis, his command was welcomed. Turbines howled in the harbour as the gunboats stormed out to sea, setting up a patrol cordon, as well as moving inshore to provide support. The police laid a distant cordon about the land around the quarry. Then the nearest battle mage was alerted. Unfortunately, the only battle mage anywhere in the Aegean and Eastern Mediterranean was Harry himself.

He found himself almost looking forward to the fight.

* * *

Almost glowing pale-golden, Harry's sword had kept its edge well since completion. On each side of the guard just below the blade were red gems, formed into the shape of blazing infernos, each holding fire elemental enchantments. That keen blade was sentient, though it did not speak, Harry could feel through it emotions and even feel and learn some of the skill of the souls embedded in the metal. His staff of red ironwood, with a ruby inset within the head stood in one hand, and with a mere thought, it grew an axe-blade of dark steel capable of felling a horse in one blow. As his magic coursed through the staff – now an axe – swirling paths of runes burned like fire up and down the haft. Harry approached, alone, to the entrance to the quarry.

A mere thought and he was sealed under spells of stealth, making him silent, making him nigh-imperceptible and nigh-invisible, which would allow him to attack without warning. Which was excellent for Harry, for the battle mage was a specialist in shock warfare. A bit of initial stealth to neutralise sentries and try and locate the basilisk, then he'd go for all-out shock-and-awe tactics.

Waiting until he had the sun rising behind him so that he'd be able to work, Harry approached the entrance to the quarry facility, seeing just two guards in a stereotypical black robe pacing the gate, the rest of the facility surrounded by a rusty chainlink fence from when it was still in use in non-magical hands. With silent paces, he moved ever closer, until he finally had both of the sentries within two yards ahead of him.

With all his cold fury mustered, Harry lashed out. A sickening thunk announced the collision between the back of the nearest guard's head with of spiked steel sleeve at the bottom of the ironwood haft of Harry's battleaxe. He immediately spun around, hands now coated in the blood of the dead wizard, and decapitated the second sentry with the axeblade. Any scream was silenced by the instant massive trauma inflicted each terminal blow.

Harry drew out his golden greatsword, wielding the large blade effortlessly in one hand, drove it into the back of the first sentry about where his heart was. He grinned as the weapon sucked all life energy from the body with grey flames, leaving it a dessicated wreck which crumbled to dust when he disturbed it by withdrawing the sword. A rush of magic and unnatural joy raced through Harry, his sword nearly singing with necromantic energy as he drove it down into the decapitated body of the second sentry.

The quarry that opened up before Harry as he advanced was a relatively shallow affair with a sloping floor, and was much wider than it was across from his position. At the far northern end, on Harry's right from his perch on the cliff side to the east, a gaping cave opened up in the rockface. He couldn't see anything, but given the guards pacing it, and the number of wizards outside, it was not being used as a headquarters, but a containment zone for a very dangerous weapon.

His eyes narrowed at the roof of the cave, then at the cave mouth. Harry decided that if the basilisk was in there, he was either going to collapse the cave roof, starve the creature of food, water and oxygen, or simply blast the whole thing with one of the nastier fire-based battle spells he was proficient with.

Catching a snatch of conversation on the wind, Harry rolled his eyes at the vanity of dark wizards. 'Disciples of Herpo' indeed, they were a bunch of murdering thugs. He disappeared with a near-silent swish, reappearing on the quarry floor opposite the cave mouth, with the dark wizards positioned between them.

The concealment spells slipped away, revealing him in all his glory as a battle mage. A simple double-layer ankle-length greatcoat of black dragon's hide, with rivets glinting dully, where plates of fire-hardened steel lay between the layers of dragon's hide covered him from wrists to shoulders to ankles.

Just about visible from the cuffs and collar of the jacket was a chainmail hauberk, while a cloak lay from his shoulders to his ankles, making an odd sound – for it was made from thousands of carefully beaten steel scales riveted to dragon scale. His face was masked by a fine veil of chain, his eyes mere slits behind the spectacle plates of a Byzantine helmet. A plume of purple horsehair grew from the spike of the helmet and plunged down the scalemail cloak, stopping short of his dragon leather boots.

Then of course there was the blade in his hand, a four-foot long greatsword that coursed from hilt to tip with necromantic fire, and the blood-coated battleaxe in the other hand. Rune magic glowed up and down the haft, and revealed the dark gleam of a revolver holstered at his hip. He was a barbaric sight, a battle mage stepped out of older times, fire and fury following his every step.

The wizards froze, unsure of what to make of this intruder, then it was realised that by his mere presence that he was no friend of theirs. Yet it was too late, they'd hesitated for half-a-second, and hadn't realised that they were already doomed. The battle mage piled into the fight, beginning the attack by raising his axe high above his shoulder, armoured gauntlet clenched about it. The spell coursed through the runes, and then he slammed the butt of the haft into the floor.

The two closest wizards suffered immediate and horrible deaths in less than a second. Harry watched, grimly as the they suffered the results of the pressure of the air around them suddenly increasing from just under fifteen pounds per square inch by five-hundred atmospheres to three-and-a-third tons of pressure per square inch. The resulting implosion compressed the poor bastards almost instantly into tiny mushed lumps of red... stuff. As he concentrated on the counter-attack, Harry unclenched the fist holding the spell, and with the sudden release of the five-hundred atmospheres of pressure, the remains of the wizards blasted outwards in an explosive fashion, coating the surrounding stone and sand with blood as that mush of red goo reacted to the sudden release of pressure in an explosive fashion.

Turning so cutting spells flashed off his armoured coat, Harry glared in contempt as the stunned dark wizards shrugged off their moment of frozen terror and attacked. The slicing spells merely left scars on the plate and hide that protected him. He swept forward, swinging the axe about his head. He dealt a terrible blow with the spiked butt of the axe haft to the head of his nearest enemy, gruesomely splattering his brains against the rocks. Thrusting the greatsword forward, the necromantic flames died down as he took their magic and cast.

"FULMINE MORTEM!" he incanted, a crackling charge of electricity bursting from the end of the long blade, gripping a wizard in the terrible power of what was a mere shade of nature's electricity.

Switching the spell, he spun the sword around and swung it as if playing golf. The electrocuted, still-smoking corpse was flung end-over-end in the air, before crashing down into a group of wizards who were just emerging from a magical tent, crushing the tent with the body. A wizard came too close and Harry flayed his stomach all the way to his spine with one slash and spun around, decapitating the wizard. He whispered a few words, and the energy of the dead wizard grew in crimson flames along the blade.

He thrust the sword towards the tent, and suddenly the ground from in front of his dragon hide boots to the canvas structure was alight with red flames, like a powder trail being lit, it raced forward. Sanguis Ignis, the blood-fire curse, summoned with the blood of the slain foe. The tent erupted into a pyre of scarlet flames. Harry added a wind spell that fanned the fire into a true inferno from which there was no escape for those wizards. A fitting funeral.

More curses flashed his way from two wizards fighting as a team, but with terrible metallic clangs, they were thrown aside by shields that Harry summoned, and then the terrible response came. A ball of shocking yellow erupted from his axe, tinged with blue to the front. The blue of the shield-breaking spell blasted a hole in the dark wizards' jointly-cast bunker spell, then the blasting spell splattered them across the quarry. With such a gruesome end dealt by the battle mage, it was a little surprising that the invading wizards tried to close the distance and surround him. A more tactically sound decision than simply fleeing and hoping to outrun a curse.

It seemed a good idea, right up until the first one toppled into a pit of boiling quicksand. Then the battle mage was amongst them, two wizards swept up off their feet into a raging maelstrom of sand conjured with a typhoon of air. The sand stripped them to the bone, and then it was too late. A hurricane of flames and steel, Harry's flaming sword struck left and right, cutting the wizards down with contemptuous ease, hewing off limbs, even as he whirled his monstrous battleaxe about his body. The spike on the back of the head could pierce armour and even some magical shields, and the axeblade itself cleaved off arms and heads with terrible force. Corpses fell about him, finishing the maimed off either with a sword-thrust, the spiked butt of his axe haft or simply kicking them into the boiling quicksand.

Suddenly there was a roar of a spell, three voices incanting it. The hounds, blazing with black magic erupted from three different wands. Harry laughed as the torrent of Fiendfyre plunged towards him. He spoke, words of power thrumming off the rocks, and then the cursed flames twisted around and crashed atop one of the casters, the floor of the quarry shaking with the impact. Harry swung around and hurled the massive axe, spinning end-over-end until it came to a halt. The axe's path was interrupted by the back of one of the two remaining casters, who turned to flee his own spell. A sickening thunk and he crumpled, axe deeply embedded in his spine. All the last wizard heard was the sharp crack of a pistol round as it punched into him.

Even as the Fiendfyre was dying, Harry heard the smooth rustle of skin on the sandy rock. He froze for a moment, listening and identifying the location, then dashed forward. Half-vaporised, in a form of black smoke, he re-materialised over one of the bodies, and seized up his axe, and then vanished.

Appearing on top of the cave entrance, Harry looked down on the back of the sinuous beast moving forth from its layer, and struck. He drove his staff, with a great build-up of magic, into the stone beneath his feet and collapsed the cave entrance. As he rode the landslide, he waited until the perfect moment and bounded forward onto the basilisk, driving his sword deep into its flank, and then swung at it again and again with the axe. He cut between the armoured plates of its back, and embedded the axe into the snake's spine neatly paralysing it with one thrust. Drawing his sword forth from the basilisk's flank, he conjured a tray with which to catch the basilisk's precious lifeblood before slicing open its throat.

A highly magical substance such as that would be of great use to a practitioner of thaumaturgy such as he.

* * *

 **August 1995, Domum Magicae, the Vatican, Roma.**

Entering the Grand Hall of the Mages was always an interesting event. Seated in serried rows, from nearly two-hundred countries were the most powerful and skilful wizards, headed up by the Arch Mage. The Mage Councillors, in their roles as politicians and diplomats, then the occasional combat mage, like himself. For Harry, he elected for an appearance of supreme boredom, making sure they all knew he had far more useful things to be doing than delivering his annual report. Battle mages were used to commanding, leading men, fighting. Not paperwork and speechifying.

Chronomancy, thaumaturgy, demonology, necromancy, pyromancy, invocations and summonings. Not bureaucracy. He could summon wraiths and demons, he could fiddle with the passing of time. Elements could be combined in magic to create other substances. He could bring up the shades of the dead, burn a great forest to the ground. The names and powers of the Old Gods were his to invoke. With his eyes alone he could shatter the mind of an enemy, with his own mind he could project terror or courage into others. Arcane spells were his to wield, his sword his right hand in battle, his magic his left.

Present him with paperwork or politics and he tended to start looking for heads to remove.

"Battle Mage Potter, have you heard of the situation in Britain?" asked the Arch Mage.

"All I know of current affairs in Britain is what I have discussed with my counterparts in the Royal Navy as per the discussions on the defence of Rhodes." Harry stood and announced; "That is limited to matters in the Mediterranean and Aegean, and the supply of retired seamen as an auxiliary force to man my patrol boats."

"Then I fear you have not heard of the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort." the Arch Mage.

"The who-what?!" replied Harry.

A few uncomfortable glances were shared between the witches and wizards seated there.

"The British dark lord." hinted the Arch Mage.

"YOU FORGET, I raised myself as a bit of a vagabond around Continental Europe for a number of years before settling into my study of magic." Harry silenced the whispers; "Names of dark wizards mean little to me, unless I'm intending on making a corpse out of them."

"Perhaps then it would be best if you learnt this yourself, but we have reports from a trusted source in the form of the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards that the believed-dead dark wizard has in some form evaded death after what should have been a fatal curse." the Arch Mage half-explained; "It has been decided to form an investigative mission to the United Kingdom, and as our sole British member, it is common sense that you should lead it."

"Lucky thing that wizards so lack such a thing as common sense." Harry mocked, before the ensuing silence informed him of what he really didn't want to know; "You're not bloody serious, I haven't been in that damned country since I was a toddler. A homeless orphan. With respect, my home is Rhodes now, and you'll need a bloody siege to pry me out of there."

"Rhodes is still, and should be for many years yet, your seat as a mage of this council, but despite however many years since you stepped on the soil of green England, you have spent much time on Malta and Gibraltar, sailed and fought with the Royal Navy, and far better to lead such a mission than a number of our more... set in their ways... mages." the Arch Mage sighed; "What would persuade you to agree to this mission?"

"We haven't had any involvement in Britain besides some covert assistance to the failed Jacobite Rebellions, so I want full diplomatic protection." Harry demanded; "The right also to call in reinforcements should I feel myself, my mission and civilian populations are put in jeopardy. The right to run my mission as I see fit without interference at any level."

There was a collective wince. It was a lot to demand, and the last time the young battle mage had brought in 'reinforcements', it had been in the South Atlantic, routing out a cult in Angola obsessed with human sacrifice. Finding himself out of his depth in the conflict, he'd taken a shortcut. Harry had decided to simply flatten the jungle around the target. He did check beforehand that all the spells the cult had in place had driven out all the wildlife before calling in the naval gunfire strike.

They'd all read the after-action reports, seen the plans, the maps. They divided the jungle target into sectors, a box laid out on a map, with a grid of 30-by-30 foot squares, laid out in a grid 40-by-40, or 1400 sectors, each of 900-square feet. The heavy cruiser employed for this destructive purpose laid down salvo after salvo for a mere ten minutes, putting down a 120kg shell with 10kgs of high explosive into each sector, completely flattening it with a total of a 168 tons of shells and 14 tons of explosives. The whole jungle target sector had been flattened in under ten minutes and when the reinforced mages went in for the clear-up, it had not been pleasant.

"With your status as Lord Inquisitor of the Holy Office of the Magical Worlds, I believe that your independence of operation can be guaranteed so long as regular reports are received here. The matter of diplomatic immunity should be already in place due to your work with the Sovereign Military Order of Malta." the Arch Mage replied thoughtfully; "However I would suggest holding off on bringing force to bear and attempt to cultivate diplomatic ties with the Court of St. James. I won't limit your use of your own staff and forces, but I will have to approve any mobilisation of mages of the Holy Office."

"Finally, as agreed, I will delegate temporary command of Rhodes to a person of my choice until my return from Britain." Harry laid down his last demand; "I will plan my excursion to Britain, and depart before the year is ended. In the meantime I will attempt to maintain contact with this council."

With the acceptance of his demand and the carrot that went with it, Harry took his leave. He had much to do, preparing to travel, taking a leave of absence from his home and command at Rhodes. He would soon be crossing to one of the hearts of magic, the British Isles. The place where the Deep Magicks were written.

* * *

 _Kudos to an anon. Guest who found a whole load of grammatical errors, parts left in random places during rewriting and other mistakes and corrected them for me._

 _ElMarquis._


End file.
